


Bound By Beastly Hearts

by DeadMansBell



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angry Sex, Angst and Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, Forgiveness, Hurt/Comfort, Love/Hate, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-07-03 12:53:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15819270
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeadMansBell/pseuds/DeadMansBell
Summary: With his subjects abandoning him in droves and Hybern’s army preparing to use his lands as a staging ground for the looming war, the High Lord of the Spring Court is out of options. With little choice but to accept whatever aid offered in whatever form it takes, Tamlin finds himself accepting a bargain with a mate he has long since despised, and who loathes him in return. The key to the future may very well be hidden in the shadows of the past, but can the pair set aside their tempers long enough to the heal the hurt and build a brighter tomorrow?Primarily Tamlin/OC with mentions of canon pairings. May introduce romance subplots for unmatched/unofficially paired characters later in the story. Set to take place during ACoWaR, ACoFaS, and beyond.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Standard disclaimer applies, I do not own the ACoTaR series nor any characters within it. This is purely a fanwork and the only character (thus far introduced) who is of my own creation is the narrator in this prologue and will be presented by name in the following chapters. If you’re reading this, I suspect you are familiar with the series and will likely be able to distinguish between my original creations and the incredible work of Sarah J. Maas. 
> 
> Also, a heads-up, even though this will take place during ACoWaR and ACoFaS, it will not change or modify any events or conversations that occur in the books. For the most part, scenes described in my chapters will take place in pockets of time for Tamlin and others that generally went unobserved. I have deliberately placed my character in locations where the POV characters would not have noticed during the active narration of the novels. Ex. Rhysand may encounter her in the span of time encompassed within one of the books, but not during any of his POV chapters or in a way that would take him away from activities he was described as doing. Rewrites of existing works can be tedious if not done extremely well, both to the author and the reader and that’s something I definitely want to avoid. 
> 
> Lastly, I feel the need to place a preemptive warning. This story will include several darker, mature themes. While it may have a happy ending somewhere at the far end of the tunnel, the relationship between Tamlin and my character is not going to start out in healthy place. They will be genuinely awful to one another for a good while before they can learn to move past the hurt and start to care for one another again. If you’re looking for a sweet, fluff-filled romance this is not the story for you.

_Mate._

To most Fae, in both Prythian and beyond, it was something held with reverence. A blessing from the Mother, or maybe the Cauldron. A glorious tether of mythic proportions, more precious than the gold and jewels of kings. The fated missing piece to one’s very soul.

I was that foolish once, believed with every bit of my heart that it was a Truth of the world. We both did. The bond clicked into place and we both believed we were being swept away into our own fairytale ending. We hadn’t the slightest notion that we were standing at the precipice of tragedy.

We had been so young. And so very, very naïve.

Perhaps our feelings had been true. Perhaps even without the mating bond we would have fallen for one another and made the same damn mistakes. I’m not sure it matters. Not sure I even care where the fault truly lies. This dark festering emotion deep in my chest has long since eclipsed everything else. Betrayal wrapped in despair. Wrath giving way to apathy. A volatile swirl of dank, negative feeling blotting out all the light.

I bared my very essence to the bond only to find that my love for him took everything in return. 

Took my beloved wings which I’d always valued as a symbol of my freedom and strength, torn and mangled beyond repair.

Took the Princess who always looked up at me with affection and admiration, the very child I swore to protect to my dying breath.

Took the Lady who first offered me a hand out of the drudgery my gender and station would have otherwise trapped me within for the rest of my immortal days.

Took the makeshift family of misfits who shared a dream and gave me the courage to do the same.

I lost so very much to that love that in my grief and fury I decided to even the scales. I’ll never be proud of my actions, yet, I could never find it within myself to stop. To regret. The violent fire of rage swelling in the depths of my very being was something I wouldn’t keep to myself— _couldn’t_ keep to myself.  I took from my mate so I would not be alone in my anguish.

For the family now beyond my reach; dissent and defection throughout his Court, a flame easily fanned with just a few well-placed words.

For the Lady slain; his mother, a price already reaped by another.

For the Princess butchered; the head of the warrior youth who idolized him, spiked on a statue in his garden in a brutal display much the same as the filthy, bloodstained box sent drifting down a river.

And for my wings ruined...? For that hurt I could devise no appropriate retribution. Not in the moment. Not before I had to flee to my father’s homeland to plead sanctuary. Not before the devastation I unleashed across our bond ignited such a searing pain that I had to distance myself before it consumed me whole.  My mate had no extension of himself that I could sully and rend in the same way his kin had done to mine. At the least, none of which I had known how to take.

Until today.

Until I once more set foot on the lush green grass ever-present throughout his lands.

Until the ancient island king mocked him for how blind he’d been to let his lover destroy his Court from within.

Until that same tyrant cleverly let slip how my mate had granted his beautiful siren part of his power to save her from death’s grasp.

The same power that let him change his shape.

The very power that could _give me back my wings_.

I had come to play games, to manipulate and deceive so I might save my once-home from the clutches of greedy Fae with no sense of true suffering.

I knew the moment our eyes met, why I would stay. So familiar and so different all at once. Same shape. Same gold-flecked green. Yet, they held no warmth. No longer so vibrant that I swore the essence of Spring itself swirled in their depths. Instead they were… cold. Hard as the stone his heart had once been made of. Had I done that? All those centuries ago with my spiteful cruelty? Or was this a new development? A scar left by _her._ His new love who turned on him as if history were repeating itself. I wasn’t sure which possibility I liked more—or least. Conflicting emotions warred with one another: _remorse, satisfaction, indignation, jealousy_.

There was a tightness in my chest, like a thread fastened to my breast pulled taunt to draw me towards him. I didn’t resist. I let my body move of its own accord towards the grim-faced High Lord before me. The male I had once loved more deeply than any other. The same male I now _loathed_ with everything I’d become. The kind of hatred that I suspected could only thrive in the shadow of a once blinding affection.

He stood with a sort of preternatural stillness as I closed the distance. Watching to see what I’d do, unwilling to risk exposing any weakness by making the first move. I didn’t mind. I could feel the corner of my lips curl at it. _He saw me as a threat._ How delightful. I let my magic swell and swirl around us, filling the space, shielding us from prying eyes and ears. He didn’t move, remained so still I nearly missed it. The warning. A low growl deep in his throat that sent a thrill racing down my spine. A sensation I had no desire to examine more closely. It had the opposite effect of what he likely intended, spurred me to press myself close as a hand slid up to rest against his chest.

There was a curious little flutter in my traitorous stomach. This was different too. He was strong in my memory, muscled, but not nearly this broad, so firm. He had been an adult then, a trained warrior, but perhaps… Perhaps not grown fully into his powerful frame. It reminded me once again of how very young we had been then, and how very old we were now. 

I felt him tense further under my touch, saw the twitch in jaw as he ground his teeth and glared down at me with eyes of cut emerald. The rancor I saw there rivaled my own. Consuming, devouring, but contained if only just. It made me wonder just how little it would take to push him over the edge. To unleash the beast lurking just beneath his skin.

But that wasn’t why I was here. Wasn’t why I would stay. Not to tease his rage or twist the knife in his freshest wounds. Not even the lure of the bond was enough to keep me, radiating with his sorrow in such a way that set my every instinct screaming at me to _ease his pain,_ to _comfort._

I came to sabotage a rallying army. I would stay to collect on a debt centuries in the making. 

I slid to stand on the tips of my toes, stretching my neck so my cheek pressed against his chin. He refused to accommodate me like he had once done in a time long past, stubbornly standing tall so I wouldn’t be able to quite reach his ear. No matter. I tilted my head back down, letting my nose brush the underside of his jaw as my lips found the pulse point at his throat.

“Hello, mate,” I purred softly against his skin. A wicked satisfaction spread when I felt him stiffen beneath my touch.

 “Let’s make a bargain.”


	2. Better the Beast You Know

_Tamlin_

 “No _._ ”

Even to my own ears, the growled syllable seemed too harsh. It was all I could do not shove her away in an explosion of violence; instead, my fingers locked around her shoulders as I struggled inwardly with myself so I might contain my claws. The rush of lust that came with having _my mate_ pressed flush against my body instantly warring with the _absolute fury_ I felt towards this petite female. Fury for how she had returned my loyalty with her spite. Fury for how she’d _abandoned_ me when I had needed her the most.

The memories of the hurt she caused made it easier to bury my desire. I flexed my fingers, finally managing to will my tensed muscles to relax as I slid my hands to her biceps. I moved her slowly, as if pealing a leech off my skin to hold her at arm’s length. That was exactly how it felt, I convinced myself, to having her scent on my skin. Like her touch had left some oily, filthy residue that was ugly and suffocating. Not so unlike another that had made my skin crawl and my blood boil. Not so different from Amarantha.  

Unfortunately, I realized with disdain, it seemed the damage was already done. She’d already observed my instinctive wanting for her. Amber eyes danced with amusement as she flashed too-white teeth in a predatory smile.

Mother above, I needed to school my reactions better before this viper tried to eat me alive.

I should have been prepared for this. For _her_. I had known this reckoning was coming from the moment I spotted her slight form—so much tinier than I remembered yet at the same time bolder than ever—standing beside the King of Hybern’s camp throne. _Ambassador of Xian_. That was how the King had introduced her. A representative of another fae kingdom with which he planned to ally in the brewing war. I’d watched her make pretty excuses to the King, her body language a perfect blend of submission and strength. She explained, all with the silver-tongued finesse of a courtier, why Xian couldn’t commit without reassurance of victory despite their support of his cause. Her tone implied just enough regret, just enough promise for the future, that Hybern was placated without any official commitment from her, or her country.

The King of Hybern had a serpent whispering false promises in his ear, and I wasn’t about to save him from his own folly. Especially not when whatever games she was playing at would likely serve as a distraction for my own tasks.

Part of me had hoped she’d ignore me. It would have been simpler that way. We were the only ones still breathing who knew of our connection to one another. I hadn’t even told Lucien of my estranged mate centuries lost somewhere on the Continent. There was no possibility of the enemies surrounding us being aware of our relationship. Not unless the snake herself revealed it to them, and my mate was too wily to offer up such a weakness to someone like Hybern or his commanders.

Not that I was a weakness of hers. Or vise versa.   

Regardless, it was a vain hope. The female was a vindictive bitch, she’d proven that much in the way she’d made her exit from Prythian centuries ago. Her offer of a bargain was undoubtedly nothing more than a ruse to strike out at me for something long past that had been beyond my control. Or perhaps she merely wanted to twist the knife Feyre had left in my back. My mate was just the sort of female who would revel in kicking a male when he was down. Particularly when that male was me.

I watched her full lips curved into a pout, the expression more mocking than genuine. “Aw,” she crooned softly, “And here you haven’t even heard my offer yet, Tam.”

The familiar nickname awakened an old ache somewhere in my chest, and I had to wonder if she did it on purpose. The sarcastic way she wielded it felt like a slap to the face. It was a struggle not to snarl outright at her, “I’m not interested.”

Her arms slid across her middle as if to hug herself. On anyone else the action would read as vulnerability, but I knew better. “That’s too bad,” she sighed, her hands trailing up to her elbows as she leaned her weight into where I still held her in place. I could tell what she was up to, yet… I couldn’t look away. The way her long delicate fingers danced up her bare bronze arms was oddly tantalizing. Then the brush of soft skin over my own calloused hands sent a jolt through me. I inhaled sharply through my teeth, releasing her as if burned. Only to curse myself moments later at another careless reaction.

“After all,” she finally drawled, clearly pleased with herself, “You make for an awful spy.”

“What do you want, Nerys?” This time I did snarl, her name tasting bitter on my lips.

Her answering smile was vicious, voice pitching into a low purr, “Something only you can give me, lover.”

I gave her another snarl. I was four centuries too old for these games of hers, and I was quickly losing my patience with the way she strung me along.  

A beat of silence. Then, finally, “A spark—just a drop—of your power, _High Lord_. That’s my price. In exchange, I’ll help rid you of Hybern and restore your Court when the dust clears.”

That gave me pause. What in the name of the Mother could she possibly want with such a small fraction of my power? Even if she had grown especially ambitious in our time apart, Nerys had always been the sort who preferred winning her battles through subtler means. My magic was something of a blunt instrument next to her typical methodologies, so why would she— _Unless!_

I gave her a careful once over as the thought occurred to me. She was just as short as she was in my memories, more than a head shorter than myself. Still petite, but no longer as toned as she once was. It made her small curves softer, helped her fill out the foreign black dress she sheathed herself in. I could venture a guess that she had ceased her physical training in the centuries since I had last seen her. Embroidered into the silk of her skintight gown was a long serpentine creature that curled along the length of the fabric, done in a shimmering gold thread that matched the color of her eyes. She’d grown out her raven-black hair, braiding it loosely over one shoulder while shearing it close to the scalp on the opposite side of her head. The unusual hairstyle drew attention to the intricate golden cuff that encased the top half of her ear, a jade-colored gemstone dangling from a delicate chain linked to the tip. It wasn’t the only piece of jewelry she wore—in fact I could be quite certain it paired with the circlet resting on her forehead and the cuff bracelet on her wrist to make for a completed set—yet, it was by far the most interesting piece.

Interesting, because I could see the pointed tip of her ear peaking through the swirls and whorls of the golden wire. I let my eyes trace a line to her cheek, the perfectly flawless skin of her face. A reminder of what _should_ have been there. I glanced over her shoulder next, to the missing weight at her back and I noticed her shift then. A subtle roll of her shoulders that indicated that this time _she_ was uncomfortable. And suddenly I knew why she had seemed so much smaller. Knew what she hoped to gain.

_Wings._

I let my arms cross over my chest, widening my stance slightly now that I was finally at an advantage. “If you honestly want me to consider this, then prove it. Drop the mask, the pretty illusions. I won’t make a bargain with an imitation.”

She didn’t have a coy retort for that, a shadow passing over her expression as she considered my demand. A flicker of hesitation in her eyes that was gone so swiftly that I wondered if I imagined it. Her head gave a tilt, a brief glance over our surroundings before I felt the air thicken. It was her magic, I noted belatedly, tightening around us like a second skin until I could taste it on my tongue. Warm spice, like cinnamon and ginger.  

I scowled, my own magic welling up eagerly in response. It was begging me to unleash it. To send its overwhelming might crashing over her own to shatter her glamours with brute force. It would be so satisfying too. Not just because of the release of built up power, but for the ability to wipe that smug expression of her pretty red lips. Before I could give into the impulse, however, her appearance blurred, my vision shifting like a ripple across a still pond. 

She hadn’t been reinforcing the glamour that hid her true appearance, I realized distantly, but the one she’d placed around us to keep our conversation private. Somewhere in the back of my mind I considered how I likely wouldn’t have been able to sense her power had I been on the opposite side of it. Grudgingly, I could acknowledge to myself that the only reason I could see through the potent deception in front of me was because the damage from that night centuries past was missing.

 And then, as she conceded my terms, it wasn’t. Four deep lines ran parallel across her left cheek, starting just below her eye and angling up and back across the side of her head. The scars were pale, almost appearing stark white against the deep tan of her complexion. The golden cuff wasn’t pure decoration as it appeared under her glamour, but rather filling the space of missing flesh. Not enveloping the soft blunted curl of the Illyrians or the delicately pointed tip of the High Fae. A large chunk of the top of her ear was simply _gone_ , a jagged edge left where it had been torn off.

It was by far the most prominent mark revealed, but by no means the only one. Most, I recognized. The ones I’d seen inflicted upon her made my stomach turn with some painful emotion better left forgotten. It was difficult to reign in the memories at the sight.   

_The coppery scent of her blood so strong in my nostrils that I could taste the metallic tang of it on the back of my tongue._

_The image of her small body writhing beneath a male twice her size. A clawed hand digging into the delicate membrane of her wing forcing her to tremble and still. The blade gleaming with poison dragging across the flesh of her arms, her back, her stomach, her thighs._

_The strangled sound of the cries she could no longer suppress mingling with the sickening cracking as the blond fae snapped each and every bone in her wings with deliberate slowness. The broken pleas on her lips not directed at the ones who took such pleasure in torturing her, but at me. Begging me—not to save her or to ease her pain—but to hold my silence. To keep the secrets our tormentors so strongly desired._

Worse than the smells, the sights, the sounds, were the memories of what I felt in those moments.

_The helplessness as I too, was held down. Unable to do anything but watch, despite being so close. The desperation, as another male touch my mate. Hurt her. Nearly killed her._

A storm of emotion that had been revived Under the Mountain when my ferocious human love gave everything of herself to save me and my people. When I watched Amarantha crush Feyre’s delicate mortal body with her magic, too weak in that moment from the ash wound in my chest to save her.

My never-ending nightmare repeating itself not only in my dreams, but in reality as well.

Coming back to myself, I observed that other scars adorning Nerys’ skin were new. Like the thin line on the right of her throat and just above the high collar of her dress. A mark dangerously close to the carotid artery. For the injuries she’d earned in the time we’d spent apart, some other ugly instinct bristled. _Protect!_ It seemed to roar at me, raging. _Mine!_ A possessive sort of anger I had no need for. Not when it came to this female who would only throw it back in my face.

Something in my expression must have tipped her off to my thoughts, for unmasked fury was suddenly dancing in her eyes. As if my reaction to her scars had somehow offended her.

“Well?” she snapped, all the playfulness of her earlier countenance gone, “I’ve done as you asked. Do we have an agreement?”

I considered pressing her. Digging for details on exactly how valuable her allegiance might be to me. Determine if it would really be worth it.

But then, was I really in any position to look a gift horse in the mouth? The cost was minimal, and there was a reason she was so confident. She had been politically savvy when I’d known her before, and—if her interactions with Hybern was any indication—it was a skill she’d honed into a fine weapon in her time across the ocean.  

Besides, while I’d never admit it to her aloud, she was right on one thing: I made for a piss poor spy. If I wanted to trick the King of Hybern and play the mole, I’d need her expertise and advice.

“I agree,” I told her solemnly, holding out my right hand to her, palm up.

I could see the fire that had ignited in her moments ago ease at my quiet tone. The tension in her shoulders left her as if realizing the battle she’d braced for wasn’t coming. A slight twitch of her lips, the small smile more genuine than any of the others she’d directed at me during our exchange thus far. She extended her own hand in response, placing it first in my own with a delicate squeeze, before sliding up to grasp my forearm. “Then it’s a bargain.”

Magic sparked against my skin, etching patterns from my elbow to the base of my throat. I hissed softly through my teeth, I had forgotten the Night Court tradition of sealing their deals with marks upon the skin. I glanced down at where our arms were still connected, pleasantly surprised to discover that the brand wasn’t one that invoked imagery of a blackened night sky. On the contrary, the pattern was one that seemed more symbolic of Spring. Deep green ivy that swirled in elegant patterns around my shoulder and bicep. With the way her hand rested against my arm, it appeared as if the ivy twisted from one to another. The tattoo that ended at my elbow started at hers, wrapping around her skin like a lace glove to stop at the tip of her second and third fingers.

As her magic surged once more, hiding the bargain marks from view along with her scars, I could still feel the lines of it tingle against my skin. I don’t know how long I simply stared at it in wonder. When I finally lifted my eyes to meet hers again, that molten gold was twinkling with some softer emotion I couldn’t identify. It made something in my chest tighten, a faint tug of longing and ache shuddering down the bond in a way that I couldn’t determine whether it came from me or her.

“Get some rest, Tamlin,” she told me, her hand slipping free as she moved to brush past me, “We’ll meet to discuss how to move forward tomorrow evening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And the Tamlin chapter is completed! I fussed over this one quite a bit until I felt like I’d gotten his voice right, but now I’m pretty happy with it. Most of the future chapters will be written from Nerys’ PoV, but ones like this one will be sprinkled throughout when it serves a purpose. 
> 
> I’m eager to hear what people think, please leave a review to let me know how I’m doing!


	3. Best Laid Plans of Beasts and Fae

_Nerys_

I was awoken by a swirling sense of dread nestled deep in the pit of my stomach. After that fateful little encounter with Tamlin last evening, today should have been simple by comparison. Lay low. Observe Hybern’s major players. Mingle just enough to reinforce my position as Ambassador and then… and then make a show of seducing my mate in front of the whole camp so no one would question why I was taking the High Lord of Spring to my tent.

  _Yet…_ Even as I shook the last clouds of sleep from my mind, I still couldn’t quite ignore that tingling feeling of wrongness lingering at the edges of my awareness. My first instinct was to cast out my magic like a web, letting it spread out in a subtle probe, searching the source of my mysterious disquiet. I found nothing out of place, however, no new or imminent threats that I hadn’t already accounted for months ago. I was forced instead to turn my senses inward in my attempt to decipher my unease. The epiphany that came was an undesirable one. In that instant I found myself simply _knowing_ all of my painstakingly arranged plans for the day were destined to be thrown into chaos.

I should have known my day could never be simple when I was this deep into enemy territory.

 It was not the first time I had been struck with this obscure sense of knowing, and I suspect it wouldn’t be the last either. Such a revelation did little to ease my nerves—rather it seems to grate on them further. As if the Cauldron itself is mocking my attempts to maintain control over my situation. I knew intellectually that it would be impossible to—not to mention foolhardy to believe that I could—account for every potential outcome when it came to my machinations. Even still, some intrinsic part of myself still struggled with the simple truth of the matter. It made me crazy just thinking about it: how the order I craved was so far out of reach.

A soft feminine _tutting_ of disapproval drew me out of my brooding reverie. A buxom high fae strode into my spacious tent without preamble, quick to set about retrieving the tools necessary for dressing and grooming. The female played the part of handmaiden to a tee, so much at ease was she that even I sometimes forgot that it was little more than a ploy. At least, I did when Deryn wasn’t sending me scathing glares and ignoring my attempts at pleasant conversation.  If it weren’t for moments such as this one where she deliberately subverted her supposed lady’s authority with such haughty disregard, I may have forgotten entirely that her blood was more refined than my own in some circles.

Not quite sure what I had done so early in the morning to earn the female’s sour regard, I carefully gave myself a once over. I only wore a thin shift to sleep in, but that was hardly scoff-worthy. The prim brunette was so punctual it was a rare occasion that I got further than pulling myself from bed before she arrived to attend me. She had seen me in both worse and less in the past, but that never earned her ire such as it was now. Absently I ran a hand over the top of my heads, immediately cringing when my fingers snagged on the rough tangle of matted hair caught in delicate metal chain. _Ah._ It seemed that in my preoccupation with Tamlin the night before, I had forgotten to remove all of my jewelry before I slept.  No wonder Deryn found the state of me lacking, those knots would cost what should have been an avoidable amount of effort to detangle.

Hesitant as I was to further darken my retainer’s mood, when I noticed her begin to lay out an elegant tight-fitting cheongsam, similar in style to the one I wore the day before, I had to speak up. My _knowing_ from before pushed to the forefront of my mind. If today was to be as chaotic as my senses suggested, then I’d be better prepared to wear something less constricting.

“Something with pants today, methinks,” I addressed in a soft tone even as I moved to a chest opposite where Deryn stood. I plucked out a few carefully arranged poisons and steel needles designed for combat before adding almost as an afterthought, “And sleeves.”

She went totally still for only a fraction of a second before her movements reversed, returning the dress back to its place in my wardrobe before retrieving an alternate outfit. I could feel her eyes on me as a made my selection, coated my subtle weaponry and strapped three to the inside of my right wrist. Deryn didn’t question me, but I could fell an unease settle into her countenance. She knew I didn’t easily give up the armor of confidence and allure my usual choice of attire granted. All my closest confidants knew I fought my battles best with misdirection and pretty words, not physical action. To actually arm myself typically meant I thought there was a chance my deceptions might be discovered, and that was a dangerous position for once such as myself to find myself in.

Silence stretched between us as I dressed with her assistance in loose billowy layers of black gossamer. Gold stitching accented the hem of the sleeves and collar while thicker strips gathered the ends of the pants tight above my ankles. A matching gilded sash the cinched the flowing garment from my hips to just below my bust and as a finishing touch a short verdant and deep emerald embroidered vest hung off the soft curve of my upper torso. The ensemble as a whole was feminine and delicate in appearance despite providing mobility and the allowing the easy concealment of small weapons. It was a tribute to Deryn’s keen sense of fashion that attire so practically could also be so flattering – or dare I say even enticing? It lacked the sex-appeal of my favored form of dress, but there was a different sort of beauty in the way the thin cloth flowed with every movement.

Next came tending to the dreaded state of my hair, to which I simply sat pliantly as Deryn set about her task. I knew better than to fuss or complain when she tugged a tad too harshly with the brush as she untangled the strands or yanked sharply to manipulate the locks into an elegant coiffure slightly off-centered from the base of my skull. Hair pulling was nothing compared to the full force of this particular female’s temper, and the attention such an outburst would bring would be dangerous. As she set about finishing touches – the neat arrangement of jewelry and paint applied around my eyes and to my lips – Deryn finally deemed fit to address me.

“You’ve been distracted since spotting the warrior-beast last eve,” her voice was quiet but her tone was stern, bordering on being accusatory. There was no question there, only pure statement and an expectation of explanation.

 I pursed my lips at the disparaging title used for my mate, forcing myself to remember that I was the one who had once fed it the younger high fae and her family centuries ago. She was too young to remember anything about the Spring Court or its leaders first hand. All she knew was from what she had been told – what I had told her in temper and spite. Despite being one of my closest confidants, despite hailing from Prythian herself, I’d never shared with Deryn the true depth of my past. It had never been relevant before, and perhaps now that it was again I would in time. But right this moment? Now was not the time.

So, I straightened my posture and injected steel into my voice, “The High Lord’s presence prompted some recalculations, but my original intent remains unchanged,” I tilted my head, a casual glance over my shoulder as I challenged back, “Has your trust in my lead faltered?”

Green eyes flashed with temper back at me, and it was all I could do to smother a smile as I watched her mouth set in a mulish line to accent the curt shake of her head. I’d have to bribe my way into her good graces at a later date, but this was necessary. I relied on Deryn a great deal, but if I had to stop and explain every alteration in my plans to all of my retainers, nothing would get accomplished. She might not like it, but I knew she understood. The answers she wanted could wait until we were no longer surrounded by enemies on all sides.

Figuring it would be best not to press my luck further with my dear companion, I gave her arm a quick squeeze of reassurance before fleeing from the tent. It was still mostly dark with only the faint glow of pre-dawn light on the horizon, a reassuring sign that I hadn’t tarried about too long.  I retrieved a small bowl of fresh fruit local to the Spring Court from a servant – this one of the few members of my attaché that truly was _just a servant_. It was a simple choice of meal considering the feast being laid out no more than a few dozen yards away, yet it suited my tastes perfectly. Not to mention, it was easy to carry along to my choice of dining area.

I had already come to my decision the night before: my target for the morning would be the large central firepit only a handful of strides from the King of Hybern’s own temporary dwellings. It seemed perfect, strategically. As close as it was to the array of massive, unwieldy tents that signified status and power within the war camp, the rabble tended to steer clear. Only those of some degree of import gathered, but as there was also a partially enclosed table some distance off arranged for the king’s dining pleasure, none of Hybern’s inner circle would be in attendance. A comfortable balance between risk and reward. Ideal for consorting with some persons of interest without the oppressive scrutiny of the king’s favorite pets.

As I neared, I was pleased to discover my assessment of the space had not been misplaced.  Despite the early hour, two army commanders sat about the pit, quietly ignoring one another as they picked at their own early morning meals. Both sets of eyes observed my sauntering approach. The first gaze raking over me in a shrewd appraisal, cold and detached like a merchant valuing wares. The second was more languid with a heat behind it that almost felt interested despite the perfectly placid posture behind it. I acknowledged neither examination as I carefully situated myself between two. I waited for both to resume eating before I allowed myself to take in my own assessment.

The first was a slim, short male who wore nonchalance like a second skin. He oozed a sort of quiet confidence that made his presence fill a space despite his small stature. Stormy eyes that danced with wit hinted at a keen intelligence, while a glimpse at pale hands revealed no scars or callouses. Not a warrior in appearance, but rather an aristocrat. Dressed finely and without a weapon in sight, he almost appeared as out of place in this rugged setting as I did. That degree of discordance between his look and station was what allowed me to finally place him from the preliminary reports my spies had been able to provide ahead of my arrival. Caolan was his name – the one who maintained command of Hybern’s Arcane Legion, those warriors more at ease crafting spells than swinging swords.

The second male was ordinary almost to the point of being extraordinary. Pleasant enough to look at in the way most high fae were, but not exceptionally so. Mousy brown hair cut in a commonly short fashion was neither especially thick nor thin, neither curly nor straight. He wasn’t especially tall or broad, but the supple gray leather that encased his form hinted at the lean musculature common among scouts. If it hadn’t been for the patch on his shoulder indicating his rank, I would have likely mistaken him for a common soldier. He was utterly forgettable, which was exactly what set off warning bells with my carefully honed instincts. My personal spymaster had mentioned such a male, Lorcan, with great emphasis when he briefed me. I couldn’t recall what part of the army he actually commanded, but my people had been fairly convinced his official role was merely a cover for deeper subterfuge.

Both could make for valuable points of contact, but sitting in silence did little to advance my agenda. I wasn’t going to gather information here, and I didn’t expect to this early in the game, but making these males uneasy around me was counterproductive. Fortunately for me, it was easy enough to find a topic for casual conversation. The gray material of the aristocratic one’s attire, I noticed, was Xian silk. I glanced from beneath my lashes at him, keeping my voice soft as I asked, “Correct me if I’m mistaken, but would those silks be from the package delivered ahead of my entourage?”

I watched as the corner of the small male’s lips curl in amusement as a soft snort sounded from my other side. “Quite so, Ambassador. Xian never fails to impress with the quality of its textiles,” he purred with approval, the baritone of his voice holding a smooth, velvety quality. Gray eyes flicked beyond my shoulder towards the second commander and his tone dipped with theatrical exasperation, “Tragic that so many of my colleagues fail to appreciate that.”

Finally, I spared a glance back to the plain male as he gave a longsuffering sigh. Thin lips quirked in a wry smile as he responded mildly, “Appreciation of quality was never the issue.”  His voice, I found, was almost as dull and uninteresting as his appearance. Once more I had to marvel at how easy it would be for this male to fade into the background of any gathering. No doubt my spies had been on to something.

Even as I was still considering how to respond, Caolan had been more than happy to push ahead for all of us, luring me into a debate over the finer points of luxury fabrics and its place on the battlefield, much to the apparent chagrin of our other dining companion. The conversation itself was inane, but that was all well and good. I doubt any party involved took the dialogue at face value. We were all gauging one another. Searching for strength and weakness and intent. Lorcan maintained his silence wherever he could, instead merely observing as I bantered with his colleague. 

As the topic took a turn towards the irksome task of removing blood from fine clothes and spells that could be used to avoid such a tragedy, I noted yet another masculine figure situate himself at the opposite side of the pit. He did not interrupt or weigh in on our discussion, and neither of my companions bothered to acknowledge him. The ignoration was deliberate on the part of the commanders, and I knew better than to test those waters in their presence so I did the same. Still, that wasn’t to say I would allow a potential threat unequal surveillance of my person. I kept the man—as I realized quickly, he was in fact _man_ and not _fae_ —always at the edge of my vision. Something about the attractive brown-haired human was deeply familiar, but engaged as I was I hadn’t the opportunity to place the feeling.

Too soon the sun peaked fully above the horizon, forcing the two commanders to excuse themselves from my company to begin their duties for the day. Caolan dipped his head to kiss the back of my hand in an exaggerated display that was rather indicative of his sense of humor, while Lorcan removed himself in a rather more appropriate manner, with a respectful-but-not-too-deep bow before he turned on heel to depart.

I noticed movement across the firepit once we were finally alone, yet still he refrained from speaking to me. A cursory glance about the surroundings revealed that no one was paying any discernible mind to his actions. His presence in the camp in and of itself struck me as odd. Hybern was as intolerant of humanity as any of the Loyalist nations after the War. Why give a man such as this one free-reign of the camp? Certainly, I had received reports that Hybern’s king was playing his own games of deceit with the human queens, yet to totally disregard such an obvious potential leak…? Before I could even begin to puzzle out the mystery for myself, he moved to occupy the space Caolan recently left vacant.

When my gaze met his, a sort of unstable glee filled his expression. It set warning bells screaming in my head. “Golden eyes,” he drawled as if in fascination, the smooth tenor of his voice sending a lance of recognition through me that I still could not quite place in my memory. “I remember an Illyrian child I met once with golden eyes. A sweet, demure little thing the Lady of the Night Court took on as a ward.”

That struck a chord, the very first kink in my plans revealing itself before I could finish breaking my fast. No one—save my estranged mate I suppose—should have been able to recognize me for anything beyond what I claimed to be. How did he? Nothing personal could tie me to Hybern. I hadn’t fought during the War or faced off against any of the Loyalists. Completely disregarding the societal gender limitations I had been subjected to at the time, I had simply been too young. I had supported the war effort of my mother’s Court by preparing meals and washing linens, but I had never stepped foot on a battlefield.

Cauldron damn it all, even in the land I had claimed as my home for the past several centuries, few beyond my father knew I was born and raised in Prythian.  It was a secret I had shared only with my most loyal of retainers, fewer in number than fingers I had on one hand. Only someone who had fought on the side of the humans could have possibly identify me as something other than a Loyalist. Only such a person could link me to my sordid past from before I pledged my allegiance to Xian’s Empire.

It was all I could do to keep my outward composure at the icy chill crawling up my spine. This exchange was far more dangerous than I had bargained for. How could a human be privy to so much? Who in the Mother’s name _was_ he? “You compare me to a barbarian welp then?” I returned carefully, injecting an edge of dismissive disdain into my tone, “I feel I should be offended.”

He laughed then, a mocking, vicious sound. “A new sovereign and five centuries later, yet you still claim the same name. Is it truly wise to play your games with me, _little starling_?”

And just like that, the elusive memory I’d been chasing since I first laid eyes on the man abruptly clicked into place.

That was right. A scant few outside of the Night Court knew of my ties: my mate, my father, my retainers, and the leaders aligned with the humans during the War. Of that small pool of souls, there was only one who had ever called me that nickname. The infamous mortal general that I had known with all certainty was slain centuries ago.

_Jurian._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the long wait. A handful of causes drove the delay, namely an increasingly busy work schedule and several rewrites of this particular chapter. It took a few tries for me to be satisfied with exactly how all of the new characters were introduced—and that was only a small fraction of what I have planned. I also originally intended for for this chapter to span the entire day, but as I got to Jurian’s introduction, I realized I was jamming in too much content. As it stands, though, the next chapter shouldn’t take nearly as long as this one did, as I already have it about half-way written xD
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this one as much as I did. Let me know what you think of Deryn, Lorcan, and Caolan. All three have their own parts to play moving forward, some bigger than others. I know there wasn’t any Tamlin in this one, but I promise I have plans that made all this set up worthwhile :)


	4. Memory's Long Shadow

_Only a fortnight had passed since my first bleeding – since my darling mother sacrificed herself to protect me from my clipping, and my Lady took me under her protection. She says I remind her of herself, and that is why she saved me. I think what she truly wanted was a playmate for the daughter swelling in her belly who would be able to fly at her side. I don’t mind it. My Lady is kind and gentle, so I can tell she means well for me._

_Unfortunately, my rescue caused scandal among my home village, creating some tension between the High Lord of the Night Court and that sect of Illyrian warriors. He hates me, I think, for the trouble my existence caused. To placate her mate and the Illyrian lord of my village, my Lady directs me to act as a servant. Again, I don’t mind it. It’s not so different to the chores I used to do alongside my mother to keep my grandfather’s holdings running smoothly._

_This day is odd though: I am nervous. I’ve been told to serve the evening meal to the High Lord and his guests as he hosts a war council. I’ve never had to serve him directly before, and I fear I might make a mistake. The anxiety sets my fingers trembling against the tray of food in my arms as I step into the command tent. The warriors gathered around don’t bother to take notice of me, engaged as they are in their discussion. Head bowed in deference, I began to deliver plates about the table while willing my shaking to ease. I am nearly finished, all dishes laid out with only the task of refilling glasses remaining. I ease between two males, moving to fill the brunet human’s glass as the dialogue grows heated. A feathered wing brushes against the delicate membrane of my own and I startle, water from my pitcher soaking the front of the guest I had been trying to serve._

_A pregnant pause stretches through the space as all discourse was brought to an abrupt stop. Mortified, I peel myself away eyes scanning wildly for a solution, an ally, an escape – anything. I see the fury in my High Lord’s expression, disdain from the darkbringer commander, and disgust from the Illyrian representative. A flash of pity flits across the face of the young shadowsinger standing apart from the rest before darkness conceals his features. The dark-haired seraphim who bumped me was casting me a surprised look, as if he had only just realized I was there. I could feel my wings fluttering helplessly at my back, my eyes snapping back to the poor man I had just doused in icy liquid. An apology caught in my throat as my again shaking hands struggled with the ties of my apron. I could use it as a towel and then—_

_A melodic peal of laughter pulls me from my panic and cuts through the building tension. The only female placed at the table has succumb to a fit of giggles, dark curls bouncing about her face as she struggles to restrain her mirth. “Finally! Someone sees fit to cool Jurian down,” she quips, warm brown eyes dancing as she reaches out to pat the man’s damp cheek._

_He met her look with a wry one of his own, affection softening his expression. “I’m glad my discomfort amuses you,” he returns, swiping at the moisture on his face. His gaze sweeps about the table, taking in the hostile postures of the Night Court leaders before settling on my stricken appearance. I flinch back instinctively when he reached towards me, but his hand merely settled on the top of my head—ruffling my dark locks in a gesture that is almost … reassuring? He pitches his voice low, his tone gentler than I would have ever expected from a general seated at this gathering such as this one, “It was only a small accident. No harm done.”_

_Someone scoffs. I can’t say who, too entranced as I was by the man before me. He, however was not so easily dismissive. I watch in awe as the human looks back to the table of warriors, arching an arrogant brow in challenge. “I know you fae don’t think much of human might, but you don’t truly think a splash of water is enough to slay us, do you?” The audacity of his tone as he stares straight at the High Lord is terrifying._

_Incredibly, the man isn’t dusted for his insolence. Instead, the High Lord merely reclines in his chair and flicks his hand dismissively in the direction of his generals, wordlessly ordering them all to be at ease. Human brown eyes turn back to me, smug but warm, “See? No reason to fret, little starling.”_

That had all been near the midway point of the War. Before the famed human hero became so absorbed in his war effort that he turned himself into a monster as awful as those he’d fought. Before his actions drove his half fae lover into the arms one of his closest allies. As I looked at him now, I saw none of the warmth—none of the empathy or kindness that had captivated me as a girl. A shell of what I remembered, bitter and mad. I could hardly fathom what made it possible for the man I knew for a fact had been slain during the War to be here before me now. Certainly nothing good.

“Jurian,” I breathed aloud, even as I still struggled to find my center. His presence here, tall and proud and appearing hardly any years older than in my memory rattled me more than I’d like to admit.

It hurt on some level to see him as he was now. The last time I had actually _seen_ him, he had still been that haughty, brilliant man who still took the time to bestow kindness on mere servants—still been the man whom I had idolized. He was already dead by the time news reached my ears of the sins he’d committed to gain an edge in the War and my youthful idealism was shattered not for the last time. I no longer saw his deceit and torture of Clythia as something horrific or heinous – I had certainly done worse in the pursuit of my goals in the centuries since.

 Yet… Seeing him now reawakened those pointless feelings of betrayal I had felt when he hadn’t lived up to the heroic pedestal I had placed him on in my childhood. Even knowing in my mind that the ire building in my chest was undeserved, it was an effort to force it down and out of sight. It was only through centuries of practice that I was able to maintain an outward mask of casual ease, “I had it on good authority that your spirit had fled it’s mortal coil. Must be quite the tale.”

His derisive snort enlightened me as to just what he thought of my tactful probing, “The king needed to test the Cauldron’s resurective capabilities. I’m merely reaping the benefits.”  

The vagueness prompted more questions than it gave answers to. He knew it too, and I had to wonder if he was deliberately baiting me. He probably was. He wanted me to ask, so that he could be the one holding the cards. I could draw this out, dance around the true topic of interest until he relented and admitted to his purpose, but that in and of itself was a risk. I’d rather know where we stand now, than maintain my dominance and gain nothing from this exchange. His knowledge of me was too much of a liability otherwise. 

I had the presence of mind to sweep us up into the embrace of my magic. I suspected the remainder of this conversation would be such that I would not want overheard by anyone. “What is it that you want from me, exactly?”

If he could feel the touch of my power, he showed no sign, merely regarding me with a cool sort of calculation. “Information,” he supplied after a moment of contemplation, “I seek Miryam’s hiding place.”

“Why?” Something about his answer rang discordant to my senses, though I couldn’t place the exact reason. Nothing about his manner seemed explicitly disingenuous. If he _was_ lying, his delivery lacked any flaw I could discern. Call it intuition, or maybe it was simply my _knowing_ rearing its ugly head again. Either way, I could not shake the belief that his claim was a misleading one, if not a total falsehood.

There was a chuckle then, his eyes dancing in wild delight as he read the implications in what I left unsaid, “So, you don’t deny she lives? Refreshing change of pace.”

I considered deflecting the charge, but quickly deemed it a waste of both of our time. I instead opted to speak plainly, “That would be pointless. It’s evident you already know such for fact.”

“Where is she?”

“I was never privy to that information,” there was an odd sort of curtness in our exchange. Direct answers and questions, but sharing no more than necessary. I couldn’t gauge his true motives this way, couldn’t figure whether he was friend or foe. I needed to dig deeper.

“You’re turn,” I declared thoughtfully, “Why bother tracking her at all? You already know she mated another. Happily so, from what I understand.”

There was a flicker of hesitation in his expression, gone so quickly I had nearly missed it even with my fae senses – the question caught him off guard. “Miryam betrayed me—abandoned me. She and Drakon both,” his tone was perfectly resolute when he answered, yet that small tell had me wondering just how rehearsed it really was.

My _knowing_ was screaming at me again, and this time it was supported by my own memories. For all his flaws, Jurian was not a petty man. He was arrogant, conniving, and amoral, yet he always had a deeper purpose. A worthy goal. His zealous commitment to the freedom of his human brethren from the fae was his greatest virtue even as it drove him to his own damnation. I was hard pressed to believe that whatever had brought him to still stand before me had broken him so badly that even that had changed.  “Revenge?” I challenged him softly, “Somehow I don’t believe that.”

Jurian looked startled at that, though the expression was slight. Perhaps he’d grown too used to people expecting the worse. It had made his job easy, I suspect, but I was already coming to a differing conclusion. His expression became closed off, the crazed amusement he had presented towards the start of our conversation all but gone now. “You’re naïve,” he accused, his tone lacking any sort of real heat.

There was something there, I could almost taste it. So I gave one final push, my voice gentle and coaxing, “I’ve hidden us from prying eyes and ears. I’ve no loyalty to Hybern. Who is benefiting from this performance?”

It wasn’t a true admittance of my machinations, but it was enough of an innuendo that I know he understood. I wanted to know if we could be allies. His expression was careful, considering. For a moment I thought perhaps he would admit to my suspicious outright, but instead he merely murmured, “A Xian serpent or a Prythian starling? I suspect I’ll see the truth for myself tonight.”

He left that cryptic musing hanging between as he lifted himself from his seat and ambled away as if the exchange between us never happened. It wasn’t an ideal end to the discussion, but I didn’t think I had to worry about him exposing me to the king. Not today, at any rate. Until I had a clearer understanding of what he was up to I’d have to monitor the situation, but for now he was no threat to me or my own.

\---

The rest of the morning into the afternoon passed without fanfare, much to my relief. I spent most of that time at the king’s side, fulfilling my role as Ambassador. Officially my job was to monitor the situation and advise the King of Hybern as to what needed to be accomplished before Xian officially pledged resources. Unofficially I was to deflect, distract, and charm so that no one would be the wiser that the offered aid was never coming. In truth the Emperor of Xian had no real interest getting involved with the trouble brewing so far away from the Continent, as Vallahan, Rask, and Montesere were the more immediate concerns. The risk was simply not worth the reward, although if Hybern truly did succeed it would be better to have offered some token support than none at all. It was a situation that allowed me the leeway necessary to pursue my own goals here in Prythian – namely the sabotage of Hybern’s campaign.

Any free time I gained I dedicated to mingling with the commanders and officers, even managing to catch Caolan for another inane yet entertaining discussion on proper battlefield fashion. As the day wore on, however, I noticed my high lord paying me an inordinate amount of attention. He was getting impatient, I knew, though I would have preferred to hold our discussion later. It would be more productive if we held it after dinner and when most fae were abed. He was just being too Cauldron-damned obvious about it. I couldn’t just leave it alone.

Irked that he was forcing me to deviate once more from my carefully thought out plans, I sauntered over with more sass in my stride than strictly necessary. His expression became shuttered, as if he knew whatever I was about to do would strain his limited patience. Good. He deserved the discomfort. I let a smile play across my lips as I reached out to brush finger tips over his forearm and up to rest against his bicep – over the place where his bargain tattoo was hidden beneath the veil of my magic.

“Something catch your eye, High Lord?” I purred deliberately, letting my voice carry to any who cared to listen.

Tamlin glared, a growl rumbling in his chest in reply and it was an effort not to let loose an exasperated sigh. Surely, he wasn’t so obtuse that he failed to deduce my purpose? No, the male was just being difficult for difficulty’s sake. I supposed it served well enough, for the angry brooding front he presented. It might seem suspicious if he fell for my charms _too_ easily.

Still, I had no intention of letting him off easy for the attitude. I let my expression twist into something wicked. “Oh come now, don’t be shy,” I teased him even as I slid closer to add in a stage whisper, “It’s perfectly understandable to crave a _real_ female after being so taken in with that mortal-born wench I’ve heard so much about.”

It was a low-blow, I knew it was. Yet, I couldn’t help the little thrill of excitement I felt when I saw real fury dancing in those stunning gold-flecked emeralds. I couldn’t tell if it was the insult to his former lover, the implication of his failure for falling for her deceit, or simply the reminder of the betrayal that drew forth his wrath so easily. I was quickly finding I didn’t really care. It was fun goading the beast. 

He drew himself up to his full height to loom—actually _loom_ —over me, and I could see the claws glinting in the afternoon light on his hands. Had I been someone else, had this male been someone else to me, I might have been intimidated. As it was, the display only roused in me a distant notion of impressed amusement. Despite the anger radiating off of him, his movements were disciplined. I hadn’t pushed him enough that his control had snapped, not yet.

As if sensing that his posturing failed to have the intended effect, one of Tamlin’s hands slid up to cup my throat, the razor-sharp tip on his thumb pressing just firmly enough that I could feel the sting without breaking the skin. He gave me a deliberate once-over, drawing further attention to the size difference between us as he hissed, “And you think that _you_ are a female capable of sating me?”

I almost balked at the implied insult—then I noticed that wicked amusement that mirrored my own in his expression. Was he—taunting me? Maybe he wasn’t as obstinate and inflexible as I had thought. I leaned in, letting his claws press deep enough to draw blood. “Looks can be deceiving. I would have thought you’d have learned that lesson by now.”

“You’re overconfident,” was the retort, nearly nose-to-nose now. As close as we were, I could see his lips twitch just on the edge of a smile.

It was getting harder to resist a true smile of my own as I dipped my voice into a low sultry tone, “Let’s find out, shall we?”

There was a feral sort of intensity in his gaze as he released me, watching closely as I glided away. He stalked at my heels as I made the decision to lead us to his tent instead of my own. I didn’t want to chance an encounter with Deryn or another of my retinue. We only had a couple of hours before the evening meal was served, and I didn’t want to risk the conflict after the exchange I had had with my retainer this morning. 

Tamlin’s tent was simpler than my own, only the barest necessities scattered about. No frills or glitter, much like the male himself. As we stepped inside, my high lord maintained his predatory edge. He was still riled from the show we’d put on for the camp, and if I were being honest, so was I. Something about playing this dangerous game with him was too enticing to resist.

I took a silent moment to let my magic do its job, sealing a layer of privacy over the small area. For added effect, I weaved intricacies into the illusion cast – silhouettes cast by candlelight against the canvas walls, the sound of muffled laughter, moans, and growls, the musky scent of sweat and sex. I called upon my own memories of the last time we’d been together uninterrupted, strengthening the glamour with an element of authenticity. On a whim, I let a dimmed impression of the sights, sounds, and smells being presented outwardly to be perceived inside the tent as well. I could see the moment Tamlin noticed in the tensing of his shoulders and the flare of his nostrils.

I was half-expecting the first words out of his mouth to be more of that challenging flirtation. I hoped for it. I found myself disappointed when instead he chose to voice his criticism and impatience, “You’ve been busy chattering about today. Did I really hear you discussing fabric with that one male? How in the Mother’s name is that conducive to our goals?”

“That _male_ happened to be the Commander of the Arcane Legion, and my most promising source of potential information thus far,” all the playfulness leached out of my mood as I replied. I didn’t bother to hid my annoyance with him any longer. If he wanted to argue with me about this, so be it, “Hybern’s Army isn’t the sort that will be crippled in a single fell swoop. I can’t deliver what I promised you without fostering my points of contact first.”

To his credit, while he bristled at my tone, Tamlin did not fall into the trap of biting back. I’m comfortable enough with my failings to admit that I wouldn’t have been able to resist continuing the argument, not when it came to the High Lord of Spring. When it came to my mate. Instead, he posed an expectant query, “You said we’d discuss how to proceed. Well? What is it you have planned?”

I did sigh then, settling myself down to perch on his bedroll. “Gathering intelligence on Hybern’s forces, armaments, and command structure comes first. I already have approximations from my spies’ preliminary reports, but the whole purpose behind me coming personally was to determine specifics. It will likely take a week or two before I can gather an accurate assessment.”

I could see the question burning in his eyes, and I added in firmly before he could begin complaining again, “In the meantime you need to stay low in the king’s perception. Right now he believes you’re little more than a raging beast he can manipulate. He doesn’t think you a threat, and we need to keep it that way. Play up your role, snarl and growl at anyone who approaches you, but don’t confront the king directly. If he calls upon you, do what he asks, but do so grudgingly. Drop hints that you’re only doing what’s necessary to limit the damage to your court. Too eager and you’ll be suspicious, but outright defiance will mark you as a problem.”

There was a beat of silence, the tension in his posture easing slightly as he considered my advice. If his body language was any indication, it seemed he would take it to heart. Good.

When he deigned to speak again, it was in a somber tone, “I return to my estate to oversee the Tithe in two days.”

There was a sort of heaviness in the declaration, like he was dreading what would come of it. I knew the Spring Court was currently in disarray, but I didn’t have the details. All I had heard was hearsay from Hybern’s men. I hadn’t the time or freedom of movement to see for myself since my arrival, and I hadn’t cared enough to have my spies investigate beforehand.

I bit my lip, a rare lance of pity sweeping through me. I knew what it was like to feel alone. Abandoned. “How many have left their post?” I asked, voice unusually gentle.

“More than half,” he admitted just as quietly, a swirl grief and anger fighting for dominance in his eyes. Then he set his jaw, rage winning out as he snarled, “She twisted my people around her finger then left my lands wide open for Hybern’s taking.”

He didn’t name her, as if to do so would make the betrayal and loss hurt too much. Feyre Archeron – Cursebreaker. The human woman who sacrificed everything she was for the love of her High Lord. _My_ High Lord. It rankled something inside me.

“That’s what you get for trying to give away something that was no longer yours to give,” I huffed without thought, causing that feral temper to turn back in my direction.

He moved faster than I could blink, caging me in between his arms against the bedroll. “Explain yourself,” he demanded – daring me to finish my thought.

But I couldn’t stop. Wouldn’t stop, not with the jealousy spurring me on. I pressed my hand to the center of his chest, nails biting into the material of his tunic. “Did you forget? Your heart belongs to me, _mate_.”

A sharp cry of pleasure sounded before he could snarl a response. That was _my voice,_ shouting Tamlin’s name. Then followed his roaring of my own. I had been tuning out the sounds produced by my glamour until that moment, but these two were rather more intense than the others. A climax. It made me hyperaware of how close we were. A flush of warmth spread through my body, heat pounding in my core, between my legs – rather inappropriately, to be honest. When I turned my attention back to the male before me, his eyes were silted with hungry intent. Clearly, I was not the only one affected.

His voice was husky he as growled in challenge, “You think you have any claim on me after what you did, Nerys? You chose to spurn me.”

“You spilled secrets that got people I loved killed,” I spat back furiously even as a new ache started in my chest, “You _watched_ them do it!”

He surged forward with a thunderous expression, forcing me to lean back onto my elbows. There was less than a hairsbreadth between us as he roared in my face, “ _They were going to kill you!_ ”

It was the anguish that laced through the fury in his tone which startled me out of my resentment.

Another insistent pull at my chest and then a heartbeat later we fell together as one – mouths melding and tongues tangling. The mating bond, I realized distantly, ­ _that_ was what I felt. That irresistible urge to poke and prod him, to lure him close. This kiss was wholly different from what we had shared in the past. It wasn’t sweet, or playful, or loving. No, this kiss was raw and volatile, full of all the hurt and anger we had each been harboring for so long. All the grief and longing. There was no room to breathe as we devoured one another.

Logic and reason fled as I let my hands wander – let the glamours concealing my scars and the bargain markings fall away. I couldn’t get that damned tunic off of him fast enough, and my vest wasn’t far behind. As I became too distracted with the task of unbuttoning the white shirt he wore beneath, one of his hands tangled into the hair at the base of my neck and yanked. He angled my head to better open me to him while he sought to totally dominate the kiss. I fought him every step of the way, yet there was no denying the electric excitement that shot through my veins when he won away my control.

I felt his leg press between my own, lifting high enough to grind against me _just_ right. I arched into him, the moan on my lips swallowed into the ravenous ministrations of his mouth. His free hand slid to the small of my back as if to hold me in place. The fingers there caressed along my spine through the thin material covering my back with such delicious gentleness that a shudder traveled through me.

Tamlin let his lips trail a path downwards then, leaving me gasping as he licked away the now-dried blood from the prick left by his claws. I hadn’t bothered to wipe it away, and with his teeth scraping at the fluttering pulse point at my throat, I found myself instantly pleased with the fact.

I needed this. I needed him.

My own fingers tore themselves away from their exploration of his muscled torso to find the thick locks of his hair. They tangled there, anchoring him to me as his mouth slid lower still, over my clavicle. My top was open, Tam sliding the black gossamer down my shoulders before he continued his descent.

The hand on my back slid up my spine and brushed over the scars marring my shoulder blades. Where the joints had been carved out so thoroughly that it was almost as if the additional limbs had never existed. The sensation was startling, a jolt of phantom pain through wings that were long gone. 

Then I remembered. Remembered everything I’d lost because of this male. That I was supposed to hate my mate. That I couldn’t forgive what he had done, no matter how good his reasons were. No matter how much I missed him. No matter how much it hurt.

Bless and curse him both, but when I pressed my palms to his shoulders, the foolish male halted immediately.

 _Cauldron,_ did it hurt. It hurt so much to push him away. It wasn’t until he was so close that I truly realized the depths of how badly I missed him. Not just the touching or the flirting, but _him_. All his quirks and contradictions. The High Lord’s son who had no desire for his power. The fiddler who believed his talent a waste. The warrior spirit who would never be truly comfortable in lordly attire or at frivolous court functions. I missed his kindness and wry humor. I even missed his stupid, dirty limericks.

It shook my resolve, that hurt. The way those green eyes looked at me in question and longing. There was no forgiveness in me. That part wasn’t a matter of will. I simply _was not able_ to forgive him for what transpired, not any more than I could forgive myself. Perhaps I would never be able to. If he pressed though… If he did, I’d give him everything. I’d stay with him. My soul craved his so badly that I didn’t doubt that, but the guilt and resentment would eventually consume me—consume the both of us. Somehow, I knew, if I went to him now it would bring nothing but ruin.

I let my hands drift up to cup his face because I couldn’t bear to break the contact. Not just yet. I did have to get us back to the discussion we had allowed ourselves to be distracted from, however. In a way it was easier now, as if that spark of passion between us had left a lull of calm behind. Ego and temper would no longer cloud the words on my tongue.

“You don’t want to be the tyrant who rules by fear,” I told him once my breathing found an easy rhythm once more. It was a statement, not a question. A reminder. I knew my mate’s heart well enough to tell that much. Thoughtfully I let my thumb caress over the contours of his high cheekbones. “I’d advise that you don’t enforce the penalty of the Tithe. Don’t demanded loyalty when the trust your people have in you has been shaken. The ability to show mercy is a strength, not a weakness.”

Tamlin didn’t answer right away, merely looking down at me with such intense concentration that I wanted to squirm. Slowly, as if I were a hare he might spook, he lowered his head, resting his brow against mine. Fool that I am, I allowed it. Just for this moment. “Perhaps you're right,” he murmured, breath brushing against my cheek. A pause stretched before he finally asked, “You’ll remain here?”

The reluctant acceptance in that question only made my heart ache all the worse. It almost sounded like he wanted me to join him. “It will draw too much attention if I go, and I doubt the appearance of another foreign dignitary at your side would help your cause.”

He grunted an affirmation, that he suspected as much. Disappointment that he couldn’t quite contain in time echoed down the bond. I had to close my eyes against it, otherwise I’d never be able to steel myself for what came next.

My voice was little more than a whisper as I said, “You need to let me up now, Tamlin.”

“I know,” just as quiet, but he didn’t move.

“Tam, please.”

There was one last deep inhale of breath before he lifted himself up, moving to stand and pulling me up with him. He took a respectful step back as we both began righting our clothing. Tamlin recovered his deep green tunic and adjusted it as I slipped my jade vest back into place.

There was little hope of repairing the coiffure without Deryn’s expert touch, so I removed the pins from my hair and combed through it as best I could with my fingers. The High Lord across from me didn’t bother trying to fix the state I had left his own golden mane. Well, if nothing else we now looked the part we were playing for the camp.

“Give me a day,” I told him as I turned towards the exit. I didn’t want to look him in the eye, to see whatever expression was there. “I’ll see what I can come up with to help you in Rosehall.”

I slipped my magic back into its rightful place seconds before I let the concealment around our meeting place slip away. Then, before he could say anything to make me linger, I was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter decided to get away from me again, but I like the results so I suppose that’s alright, haha. Tamlin was only going to have a small scene, then as I was writing it these two decided to steal the show. A lot of angst on Nerys’ side, but at least this time they moved forward further than they moved backwards. I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> I ended up pushing two scenes back to the next chapter, which you should be seeing before Christmas. We’ll be introducing Nerys’ spymaster coming up soon, so look forward to it!


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